


Scion of Kings

by silvertrails



Series: First Age Arc [36]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertrails/pseuds/silvertrails
Summary: Ereinion doesn't like that his father, Orodreth, sent him to the Havens of Sirion.





	Scion of Kings

**Scion of Kings  
By CC   
November, 2006**

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended.  
The story is set on TA 459, so Gil-galad is fourteen years old.  
I go for Home 12 canon, so Orodreth is Angrod’s son, and Gil-galad’s father. I am giving Orodreth a younger brother, Inglor, who would be Gildor’s father.

25 Fluffy Fics Prompt 21: Sunset

This is a birthday gift for Alex. Happy Birthday! *hugs*

Thank you to Larian, who was so kind to beta read this in record time. :)

* * *

Gil-galad was sitting on the pier, feet dangling over the water as he watched the sun slowly sink behind the horizon. It made him wonder if Arien slowed down her cart when she was close to Valinor so Tilion could see her aflame before disappearing from sight. Gil-galad’s mother had told him about the Light of the Trees, and how Arien and Tilion carried their last fruits. She had been born in Tirion, and her family had followed Finrod to Middle-earth. She always wore a melancholy smile when she spoke about Valinor.

Finduilas had once told Gil-galad that their mother missed her home in Tirion. He had asked his Uncle Finrod why they had followed Fëanor to Middle-earth, why they had not turned back when Finarfin did. Finrod had told Gil-galad that the urge to see the world and govern their realms with the knowledge brought from Aman had been too great.

Gil-galad would have asked his father, but Orodreth had been at Dorthonion with Angrod and Aegnor. Only Orodreth had returned, with Curufin and Celegorm, and Finrod had welcomed them all. Gil-galad had been so happy to see his father was safe, but shortly after Orodreth had sent him to the Falas with his Uncle Inglor, who had returned to Nargothrond after a while.

When Gil-galad had asked why his mother and sister were not coming, Orodreth had said that the roads were not safe enough to send them with him, that it would be easier for Inglor to bring him alone. Even little Gildor had stayed in Nargothrond with his mother. Gil-galad still didn’t like it. Not only were they all in danger, but he missed Finduilas and his mother. Sometimes Gil-galad didn’t understand his father at all.

A gull descended on the beach, gracefully flapping its gray wings for a moment before merely gliding to a landing on the white sand. Gil-galad looked at it for a moment, wondering why its cry didn’t seem to affect him. It made him curious about Aman and what lay beyond the sea, but it was nothing like the longing Uncle Inglor had mentioned once.

“I thought you would be here.”

It was Círdan, and he didn’t sound amused. Gil-galad looked up, a tentative smile on his lips, his mind working furiously, trying to remember if he had forgotten one of his usual tasks.

“Didn’t I tell you I would come here?” he asked, buying himself some time.

Círdan sighed, obviously exasperated. “You know well you didn’t. Is there something else you want to tell me?”

Gil-galad stood, trying in vain to look contrite while his mind was a blank. There was something he had been supposed to do before night. It had to be today because tomorrow... because tomorrow his father’s messengers would leave the Falas at first light. Gil-galad had promised to write a letter.

“I am sorry, Círdan. I will write the letter to my mother after the night meal. And I will include a long section for my father,” he added when the shipwright gave him a warning glance.

Gil-galad turned his eyes to the sinking sun, feeling rebellious. Why did he have to write a special section to his father? They barely knew each other, so Gil-galad didn’t know what to write. He had told this to Círdan, and the silver-haired elf had merely stated that writing a letter was a good way to know his father better.

“Your father had an important reason to send you here, Rodnor,” Círdan said after a while.

Gil-galad shrugged. More gulls had come to the beach, apparently looking for crabs. He could feel Círdan’s eyes on him, but he was not in the mood to discuss his father right now. Gil-galad loved Orodreth, but he could not understand or forgive his father’s decision. A gull rose into the air and called, and Gil-galad shivered. It was the first time he had felt something like this. Still shaken, he turned to Círdan.

“Do you not feel the gulls’ call?” Gil-galad asked.

“Not as strongly as others who have seen the Light would,” Círdan said quietly. “I have been here when all Elves could see were the stars, and when Tilion and Arien first rose in the West. Arien’s rising was beautiful, but they say it is not the same as the Light of the Trees.”  
Gil-galad blinked. “But the Sun goes from East to West...”

Círdan smiled. “It does now. Both Tilion and Arien rose from Valinor, and they crossed paths for a while. But Tilion was not constant, and there was no night so we Elves could no longer see the stars.”

“So it changed.”

Círdan nodded. Gil-galad turned back. The sun was gone, and uncountable stars illuminated the sky. Tilion was up, though Isil’s white light was dim tonight. Was Tilion sad? Gil-galad shook his head. He actually missed his father.

“Do you think I will be going back soon?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Círdan said. “You heard your father’s messengers. The land is not free of darkness, and it is not safe to travel back to Nargothrond.”

“But they came here, didn’t they? So they could take me back with them. There is no reason for Papa to keep me here. I am old enough to go back. I was ten years old when I came.”

“You could be the next High King, Rodnor.”

“What say you?”

“That you could be the next High King,” Círdan repeated. “Fingon has no heir, and Turgon has no wife to beget a son, and Finrod...”

Gil-galad could not believe his ears. Whatever had possessed his mentor to speak like this? “That would mean they would all be dead, even Papa! How can you say such thing, Círdan?”

“I just want you to understand why your father sent you here, Rodnor. You are Ereinion, a scion of kings. If the darkness vanquished them all, you would be our only hope.”

“Don’t call me such!”

Círdan said nothing, but his eyes told Gil-galad that he was serious, and that there was no going back to Nargothrond for him unless Morgoth was defeated. Gil-galad had been called Ereinion before, but he had never paid attention to the epessë until now. He had never fully understood its meaning.

Gil-galad shivered, and a moment later he could feel Círdan’s cloak around his shoulders. He turned to look at his mentor, and when Círdan placed an arm around his shoulders and gestured for them to go back, Gil-galad followed. The land breeze was cold, and he wanted to write that letter to his father.

As they approached the houses, Gil-galad could see the soft light of silver and blue lamps in the windows. So much like his home... An image of him and Finduilas, reading under one of such lamps came to his mind.

“I will defeat Morgoth,” he said fiercely. “If it comes to it, I will make my father proud. I will make you all proud, Círdan.”

“I know,” Círdan said quietly, his eyes soft. “I know, Ereinion. I have never doubted it.”


End file.
